


Dark Turning Into Day

by DayStar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayStar/pseuds/DayStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa is poisoned and Indra knows of only one person who can help. As Lexa heals under Clarke's ministrations, she begins to hallucinate and speak nonsense - nonsense, that is, unless you listen carefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Turning Into Day

_Thunk._ The meaty thud of the blade biting into flesh, the pained, shocked cry… It felt good, it screamed ‘you won,’ but it was too little, too late. Indra yanked her blade from the assassin’s throat, ripped out a good chunk of his body in the process. It was a petty, vengeful motion, but he wasn’t going to feel it for very long anyways; as she rushed to Lexa’s collapsed form, she could hear him choking to death on his own blood.  

She ignored him, knowing that the warriors flooding the tent would be keen to rectify their failure as soon as they could.  _My failure,_ the Grounder corrected herself fiercely, and she didn’t not hesitate to feel the Commander’s pulse, her forehead, waiting for that sudden clenching in her gut that would scream that Lexa was dead.

There was still a pulse. Weak, fluttering, but a pulse. Her hard face didn’t change, but inside Indra let out a short gasp of relief. With the Commander dead and the Mountain Men no longer a threat, who knew what –

She cut the thought off. Lexa wasn’t dead. She  _wasn’t._ The scratch the assassin made – a thin, barely visible slice along the Commander’s upper arm – was obviously worse than it seemed, elsewise Lexa wouldn’t have fallen. Indra didn’t remember the last time the young girl had let herself sag in front of her people, let alone collapse. Her mouth thinned at the thought, and she sniffed at the wound suspiciously. Poison seemed like the only option, and she rocked back on her heels.

“Leander,” Indra barked, and an older man hurried forward, his pack chinking gently with the sound of bottles and packets. This man wasn’t their best – their best had all gone forward, to see to the health of those freed from the mountain. She almost spit to the side at the thought of those thin, shambling skeletons, but the warriors might see it as an ill omen and Indra held herself back.

“It’s poison,” the healer stated nervously, and her teeth set together.

“I know,” Indra said with forced calm. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

He shifted. This was, after all, the Commander’s life that had fallen so abruptly into his hands. “I – I’m not sure what I can do. I don’t know what kind of poison it was, what the effects are, how fast it is spreading, what the…”

She tuned him out as he rambled his excuses, because her thoughts were going in a different direction. A far, far different direction. Three months ago she never would have even considered it, but even she could be wrong on occasion. The Sky People had proven that. And what other option was there? The best were too far forward to retrieve in time.

Indra surged to her feet, cutting the healer off. “Keep her alive,” she ordered aggressively. “Three days. You will not let her die for three days. She will not let herself die; you must only lend her strength.” In a much louder voice, well aware of the uncertainty of the warriors milling about the shelter, she repeated, “The Commander will not let herself die. Three days.”

With that, she whirled and strode from the tent, passing the corpse of the assassin with barely a curl of her lip and the brief hope that the coward died in agony. Minutes later, Indra was outfitted and on the fastest horse, moving not towards the capital, but back, back to the Sky People.

Back to Clarke.

—

Softened by the flickering candlelight, Lexa’s face could almost have been called young. Clarke shifted, her hands settling more firmly into her lap, restraining the impulse to stroke the high, proud cheekbones with her thumb, to gently brush over the full lips. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to caress Lexa or throttle her – it’s a tossup. Then again, Clarke had been dealing with that question for the last two days, and the Commander was slowly healing under her ministrations, so she supposed that was answer enough.

With a light sigh, the blonde girl slumped back, fatigue pulling at her limbs and eyelids. She’d caught a few hours of sleep over the past three days – none while on the road with Indra, a little once Lexa had stabilized – and it was starting to tell. She was just tired. Tired of battling with her emotions, tired of remembering what happened at the mountain, tired of trying to do the right thing, the hard thing… if they were even the same anymore.    

About to get up, she paused when Lexa moved, a restless twitch that didn’t bring the girl any nearer to consciousness. Watching her pale, sunken face, Clarke chewed at her lip, changed her mind. She could sleep later. If Lexa woke, she’d need someone who –

“Costia…”

The murmur was faint, and it took Clarke a moment to realize the Commander was mumbling in her sleep. She couldn’t deny the curiosity, couldn’t deny the flash of anger and grief and relief and she didn’t even know what else. Lexa was dreaming, maybe. About – about – not about Clarke. Though it was stupid, she bit at her lip again and turned away, knowing full well how irrational her hurt was and not able to do anything about it.

“…sorry. Costia, I’m so sorry. I tried. I tried. I…”

Even now, after all that Lexa had betrayed, Clarke felt her face tighten in sympathy as the Grounder’s murmurs devolved into something more broken and scattered.

“Please Costia, please don’t – I didn’t… You can’t be – I…”

She remembered the burn of hurt in Lexa’s eyes when she’d spoken of Costia’s death, even as her face remained a hard mask. She remembered the lies Lexa had spoken so realistically she’d convinced herself they were true.

_I thought I’d never get over the pain, but I did. By recognizing it for what it is… weakness._

“It isn’t weakness,” Clarke said out loud, suddenly desperately wanting to reassure the unconscious girl lying on the bed. “It isn’t weakness Lexa, you know that.” Her hands rose without her commanding them to, found themselves tucked snugly into Lexa’s loose grasp. The Commander’s mumbling faded for a time, but not long after it started up again.

“Anya… you lied. You said – said I was strong but… I left her… I left her. You lied. It was – it wasn’t right and…”

The sharp pain in Clarke’s chest, dulled since that moment in front of Mount Weather’s doors, was starting to writhe again, alive and well. She’d thought she’d shoved it down, killed it, but Lexa’s voice was a resurrection, bringing back all the agony of the betrayal. All the agony of knowing that Lexa may not have done the good thing, but that it had been the right thing. That Clarke might well have done the same.

Her grip tightened on the pale girl’s hand. “Shhh,” Clarke found herself whispering, a hard lump in her throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. Lexa, it’s okay.”

Lexa’s voice was getting stronger, and she moved restlessly in her sleep with no real sign of waking. “Anya? You came? I thought you’d leave me.”

A pause, like the Commander was waiting for an answer. She spoke again like she’d gotten one. “Because I’ve let you down. I’ve become… weak.” Another pause. “You’re the one who told me to protect our people. I tried, I tried so hard…. No, I didn’t. They’re not safe. The tribes are – No, don’t say that. Anya, you died, you’re gone, and Costia is dead and Clarke’sgoing to die because I left her and it’s all my fault. It’s all…”

From beneath her closed lids, a few tears trickled down Lexa’s painted face, smudging the markings. Just a few tears. Clarke doubted Lexa had cried even that much in years, and she swallowed hard, brought Lexa’s hand to her lips. The rage was seeping away, leaving only a stinging pang that this was where they were, this was all they had left.

“I’m here, Lexa.” She kissed the calloused palm. “I didn’t die.” Brought her lips to skim against the scarred fingers, one at a time. “This isn’t all your fault.” It couldn’t be all her fault, because if it was, Clarke was just as guilty and they were going to burn together. She pressed her lips to Lexa’s wrist, and found, somewhere in her chest, the wavering strength to whisper, “I forgive you.”

The hand she held slowly curled into a loose fist. “…Clarke?” And when Clarke tore her gaze to Lexa’s face, the Commander’s eyes had fluttered open. They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment, and then Lexa breathed, “You came.”

And Clarke, biting at her lip, fighting back tears, gave a jerky nod. Lexa’s frail smile held a million words, all of them fragile and breakable, but when her eyes closed again and her breathing evened out, Clarke thought it was the bravest thing she’d ever seen.   


End file.
